M'goi, haang hui
by Pink Cloud Assembly
Summary: It was hopeless from the very beginning, but we let excitement and greed take control, and didn’t bother to look back on what we’d started.


M'goi, haang hui.

By: Pink Cloud Assembly

_**A/N:** Okay, so a little backstory on this. This little oneshot was spawned from my girlfriend leaving me. It was originally supposed to be a deathshot, but turned into this. The title I actually took from a song, I know, lame move, but I really like the song and it kinda fits in a strange way. It's called "Please leave" by Edison Chen & Yu Chiu. The title translates into Cantonese as "M'goi haang hui". Thus, title was born. Check it out on youtube, good song. _

_**Warning:** post-slash. _

**_Disclaimer: _**_Blah blah, I don't own them.  
_

_"It is best to love wisely, no doubt;  
but to love foolishly is better than  
not to be able to love at all."_

_~William Thackeray_

* * *

Even though I've been standing around for nearly ten minutes, I have yet to be acknowledged. I'm not sure if he's ignoring me just to irritate me, or if he's still so mad at me that he doesn't even want to look at me. Both seem plausible, but the latter hangs in the back of my mind like an angry storm cloud, a constant reminder of how messed up this entire situation is.

It was hopeless from the very beginning, but we let excitement and greed take control, and didn't bother to look back on what we'd started.

Oddly enough, I was the one who ended up coming to him with my feelings a jumbled mess. I can't explain it, spending twenty-something years in his shadow taught me a lot about him. But there were other things I wanted to know, things brothers don't think about one another. The worst part of it was when I had to bandage him up. It was different with him, every time our skin touched, my face would feel flushed and my hands would shake. I don't know if anyone noticed, and if they did, I could have easily blamed it on a caffeine crash.

It became a daily thing. Where's Raph? What's Raph doing? When will Raph be home? I just couldn't take it anymore.

"Why won't you talk to me?"

I didn't actually think he'd respond the way he did, but I can't say that I was disappointed.

It was awkward from the very first night we spent together, but we've always been awkward around one another. We just clicked.

Raphael shakes his head softly, though in an 'I can't believe you haven't left yet' kind of way, and coolly replies, "nothing' to talk about."

Pausing mid-curl, he adjusts his grip on the weight, shrugs, and turns away from me. Basically, he's telling me he doesn't want to talk anymore.

"Yes there is," I sigh, rolling my eyes in slight annoyance. He should at least look at me, I feel like a total stranger.

"_No_," he snaps, forcing his voice flat. "There ain't."

Frowning, I stare at him in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

He's been acting as if he's the only one suffering, and it's really starting to get on my nerves. The way he carries himself around me now is just childish. He acts as though everything that's taken place between us over this last year is invalid, means nothing, meant nothing, and was all part of some sick mind game I lured him into and then turned on him at the very last minute, just to ruin his life.

He can be so selfish sometimes.

"'M tired," he sighs. "Go away."

"No. I want to talk." One good thing about this relationship is I've learned to stand my ground. You either do that, or crumble at his feet. He's spent years drilling that kind of submission into me, just because I'm younger. "You never talk."

I'm tired, too. Tired of being the only one dealing with this like an adult. I don't like crawling into an empty bed anymore than he does, but this is what Raph does when he gets hurt: he shuts everyone out. And by everyone, I mean me.

His eyes flick over to me, delivering a silent warning.

"It just wouldn't have worked, you know that. Besides… It's better this way. For everyone," I quickly add.

It's not like anyone would actually approve of this. If they found out I… I don't know what would happen. I can't imagine a very easy turn out. When the thought of anyone finding out about us first dawned on me, I was up nearly every night in a state of panic. I dealt with constant paranoia for almost a year before I decided it was just too risky.

He would complain about how paranoid I was every time we would sleep together, because really? I was terrified. I just couldn't do it anymore, I mean, what if someone found out? What would happen? The thought gnawed away at my insides night after night, my heart would jump up into my throat anytime someone would ask to speak to me. I came close to just blurting it out before anyone else could, more than once.

He snorts, chuckling dryly. "Yeah. Better for everyone."

"What did you expect?" I snap, folding my arms tightly across my chest. "To live happily ever after?"

Yeah, because being bitter's done us a lot of good so far.

"I don't wanna hear it, Don."

"When are you going to stop being so stubborn and deal with this?" I nearly yell, my arms stiff at my sides.

"When are you gunna learn to do what you're fuckin' told?" He growls in my face, bearing his teeth like some sort of animal. I might have shrunk back in fear a few years ago, but he doesn't have the same effect he normally does. There isn't any life in his voice, and there really isn't much anger, either. I heard the crack in it; this is all just a desperate attempt to scare me, to get me out of here before he loses it.

Raphael likes to put up a front, likes to pretend that nothing gets to him, nothing bugs him. This is driving him nuts, though. I know it is.

When I make no move to leave, he leans in close and snarls. "Get. Out."

He won't try to hit me, and even if he did, I'd block it, but I'm still shaking like a leaf. It's probably just frustration, or anger, or maybe a mixture of both. He opens his mouth slightly as if to form a word that just won't come, and then jerks away, turning his back to me.

A few seconds tick by and I just stand there, rubbing my arm and watching him clench and unclench his fists, searching for something but not knowing what.

"You don't really want me to leave, do you?"

"Yeah," he replies quickly, but then stops. "No. I don't know." he sighs and rakes a hand across his face, waving his arm at me. "Do whatever ya want. I don't care."

When I finally find my voice, I numbly say, "We don't have to talk. I just don't want to be alone."

He relaxes at that, and I do, too.

"Mikey isn't much for silent company, and Leo--"

"Leo's a dumb ass," he snorts.

I manage a tiny grin. "You say that about a lot of people."

"It's true about a lot of people."

For a little while, everything feels okay again. We've never really been a very physical couple, not like Casey and April. We just kind of lived around each other. I read while he watched wrestling and we shared a couch, and while I didn't know if that was enough foundation to form an actual relationship on, it was good enough for me.

"Do you ever think that about me?" I ask.

"What? That you're a dumb ass?"

I nod.

"Sometimes," he answers shortly, building up a little more of the animosity between us. As if there isn't enough. "Sometimes ya do some pretty stupid shit."

I don't respond to his answer, aside from a soft wince. Figuring we're pretty much shot for conversation, and seeing how he isn't demanding I still leave, I wander over to his hammock and crawl into it. As I do this, he kind of stops and gives me this weird look, like maybe I don't belong in it, but surprises me by striking up the conversation again.

"What about you?"

Forcing myself into a sitting position, I blink, my legs hanging off the side. Not too hard once you get the hang of it. It was hell trying to get both of us in this thing we almost broke it a few times, and succeeded once.

"What? Oh," I say quietly. "Sometimes."

Quite a few times, actually.

He seems to accept my answer, and goes about his business, practicing palming and releasing his sai. I still don't really feel like leaving, and he doesn't seem too bothered by me being here.

As he moves onto a combination of blocking techniques and strikes, I shift uneasily in the hammock, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Raph?"

Though he doesn't stop, the tiny grunt I receive alerts me that I have his attention.

"Did you really mean what you said?" A little vague, but I think he'll catch on.

He does, but promptly decides to ignore it, instead throwing a big sarcastic 'fuck you' in my face. "About you bein' ten times more annoyin' than Mikey? Yeah, why?"

"Be serious," I scowl, not finding this nearly as funny as he does.

"I am bein' serious," he grumbles. Here comes that awkwardness again, moving in like a rolling fog. He's quiet for a bit.

"Please?"

His demeanor goes slack and he palms his sai, slipping them into his belt. "Please what?"

"Answer my question?"

"Why the fuck does it matter?"

"It just_ does_," I press on, my voice faltering.

I wonder if it's the pain speaking. I would have liked to have known Raph before we got more involved with one another. Not to say I haven't learned a great deal about him, but as a brother, there are still things I just don't get.

Groaning, he lets his head lull to the side, then smacks the butt of his palm into his forehead, dragging it down over his eyes tiredly. "You are such a fuckin' woman, Don, I swear. Ya already know the fuckin' answer, why ask it? Why can't ya learn to just leave shit alone?"

"Because you act like I terminated this relationship just to piss you off, you act like you hate me. You hardly paid any attention to me before, but now it's like you specifically go out of your way just to make sure I'm miserable."

He mumbles something, but I can't make it out. Scrambling out of the hammock, I lean in. "What? What did you say?"

"Said at least I ain't the only one."

"Do you still love me?" I blurt the question out before it even registers in my mind, and his eyes pop open, just as shocked as I am.

He pauses to think.

"I dunno," he says quietly.

"But you said—"

"I say a lot of things, Don," he snaps. His words are cold like ice, but I guess I should have expected as much. "I don't wanna play this fuckin' game anymore, alright? Just fuck off."

"Why can't you—"

"This shit's getting' old. Yeah, okay, I fucked you, you fucked me, you _fucked_ me."

"I didn't—"

"We both said shit and did shit and guess what? It 'didn't work out'. You chickened out,_ you _pushed _me _away. Not the other way around."

He turns away from me and blinks a few times, his eyes drifting off again.

"Just remember that. You pushed me away."

"Fine," I mutter, stumbling a few steps back until my shell bumps into the doorknob. Quickly I turn around and grab for it, but my hands are shaking so bad they can't seem to perform such a simple task. Really, it's pathetic.

Raph lets me burry my face in the door for what seems like ages, my hands just won't cooperate.

"Ah, shit. Don…"

"No, it's fine. Forget it. I'll just… jus-st.."

I still can't get it open. Stupid door. Stupid fingers.

"Don! Look at me!"

Note to self: Form a personal vendetta against any and all doorknobs and see that all in this household are destroyed.

The realization that I can't work something as simple as a door leaves my hands sliding down the sides of it, my entire body following just as slowly. But before I can lean my forehead into the wood and my knees can touch the floor, I feel strong, thick hands wrap themselves around my shoulders, pulling me back up, and then another body roughly presses me into the door.

"I didn't mean it," he mumbles, pressing into me even more. "'M sorry."

I feel my plastron click against the door, but I jerk my shoulder roughly, trying to break loose. My hands have finally curled themselves around the doorknob, but little use it does me now, jabbing into my side.

"Raph. Let go."

Again I try to jerk myself loose, but he simply clamps down harder, forcing the air out of my lungs.

"You're such an asshole," I choke out, swallowing thickly. His head finds my shoulder and rests there, his hand wrapping so tightly around my wrist he may as well be digging his nails into my flesh. Maybe he is.

"Yeah, well, you're a dumb ass," he mutters in that gravely voice, made thick over the years by beer and cigarette smoke.

It should be incredibly awkward (not to mention painful) with him pretty much plastered to the back of my shell, his warm, shallow breath making my neck slick, but really, it isn't.

"Didn' mean it," he mumbles again, letting his head rest against the side of mine.

"I didn't want it to end like this."

"I didn' want it to end at all."

No matter what we do, no matter what I say, no matter what he thinks... we've always been hopeless— we always will be, and I don't think anything will ever change that.


End file.
